


Coconut and Metal

by dontgiveafic



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: All the H/C, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Potentially one-sided Steve/Tony, Torture, WIP, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontgiveafic/pseuds/dontgiveafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers are captured and Tony is tortured for information about the arc reactor. In the weeks that follow, Tony struggles with memories of his imprisonment in Afghanistan, Obadiah's betrayal, and the recent torture. Steve and the rest of the team are determined to help him, but uncertain how, especially when Tony takes extreme measures to get baddies off his back once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt in the Avengers Kink Meme:
> 
> http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/4305.html?thread=3745745
> 
> "I want a fic where Avengers are captured, and Tony is tortured in front of them by villains taking his reactor out and not putting it back in until he's almost dead, several times. Tony gets through it, all angry and defiant and not giving in, but the rest of Avengers (especially Natasha, who had access to his files) is terrified.
> 
> After they rescue themselves, Tony is all "I'm fine, nothing to see here, come along", but inside he's all fucked up because it's giving him Obadiah flashback. They help him through it.
> 
> (Gen or slash or het, no preference, as long as there's ALL THE H/C)."
> 
> __
> 
> Ratings may change as the story progresses, especially if I decide to make the Steve/Tony thing not one-sided.
> 
> This is my first story on AO3, so my apologies if the tags are weird or anything!

 

Tony only stopped talking when the arc reactor was pulled from his chest. Sometimes not even that was enough to rein in his tongue and his wit—the only weapons left at his disposal.

 

But then they had removed the reactor for the third—fourth?—time, and it seemed all he could do to keep breathing. One of the captors—a burly man nearly as tall as Thor—held the arc reactor between two fingers and a thumb, slowly tilting it left and right as though inspecting a jewel. He held the reactor just above the empty bore in Tony’s bare chest, its cords dangling tantalizingly close to the sockets they were rent from. The bluish light made Tony’s skin—already drained of color—seem nearly cadaverous as it shone against the sweat and blood that lined the planes of his chest and stomach.

 

As the seconds passed, Tony’s body began to shake, his arms tensing and quivering as he weakly, hopelessly strained against the restraints at his wrists. A low whine escaped from between his clenched teeth and Tony squeezed his eyes shut. The man holding the arc reactor sneered before speaking in a low rumble.

 

“We can play this game all day, Stark. Longer.” Another guard standing off to the side chuckled.

 

Tony opened his mouth as though to speak, but his teeth snapped together around a pained moan as he pulled in short breaths through his nose. With an aggravated shake of his head, the man pushed the wires roughly into the socket in Tony’s chest, which heaved under the strain. Tony arched his back violently, as much as his restraints would allow, and desperately swallowed in air with a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob. After a moment, his breathing slowed and he regained himself enough to quirk his lips into a grin.

 

“You’re intimidating, Bluto. I’ll give you that much. But—and I’m just spitballing here—I gotta say this place could use some professional development courses in the torture department.” His voice was thin but he continued. “How about rolling out the iron maiden. That’d be appropriate, right? The iron maiden for Iron—”

 

Tony’s quip was rewarded with savage punch to the ribs that instantly choked off his words. Only a beat of silence followed before he let out short laughter edged with something close to hysteria.

 

__

 

Natasha arched her neck to the side until it gave a satisfying pop and sighed as she shook out her arms. If Clint could have seen her, he would have recognized this small action as a sign of nervousness. He was nearby, at least, just not directly in her line of sight. In the cell to her left was Dr. Banner and Steve to the right, his blue and red uniform lined with scratches and dark spots of blood. Past the Captain, Natasha could see more bars, Thor’s bright hair, and glimpses of Clint as he paced back and forth. She spared another glance at Steve. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the one-way mirror they all faced, much less blink. Tony made an unintelligible noise from the other side of the glass and she saw the Captain’s jaw clench.

 

Reluctantly, she looked back just in time to see Tony’s entire body surge with a wracking shudder as the connections were replaced and the arc reactor lolled like an eye torn from its socket. His voice threaded through from the other room.

 

“You _will_  kill me if you keep playing Operation with that thing. You know that right?”

 

For only a brief moment, Natasha detected a twinge of real fear that no amount of glibness could paint over and the defiance in his dark eyes wavered. Their captors had smartly chosen the most obvious target for their tortures. Natasha and Clint were trained agents—no strangers to interrogation. Thor was the closest thing to a god, with Steve not far behind. And Banner. For all their guns and disturbingly advanced technology, they still seemed wary of what was roiling beneath the surface of the doctor’s skin. Though, whatever drugs their captors had administered and the deceptively elegant metal collars encircling Bruce’s, Steve’s, and Thor’s necks seemed to be more than effective at subduing them. Even Thor had been unable to do little more than scowl and bat his knuckles ineffectually against the bars.

 

More to the point, Tony seemed to be the only one they were truly interested in anyway. They wanted his arc reactor, but they also needed him. They had said as much—demanding that he reproduce the technology because they were unable to reverse-engineer the reactor’s complex design.

 

Natasha’s eyebrows drew downward and she frowned as she considered the similarity between what was unfolding before her eyes and Tony’s abduction in Afghanistan—his captors’ attempts to coerce him into building the Jericho Missile. Not to mention what Obadiah Stane had done. S.H.I.E.L.D. had an exhaustive file on Tony Stark, one she had read cover to cover more than once, that detailed his arc reactor technology and its vulnerabilities. His vulnerabilities. The clinical assessment rose to the surface of her thoughts unbidden: _Removal of arc reactor likely to induce shrapnel penetration, cardiac arrest, and eventual death._ She had no sooner tamped down the thought than the guard interrogating Tony once again reached for the reactor.

 

The effect was immediate. Tony’s face contorted in obvious agony and a groan of pain tore from his throat. It was worse each time. As he thrashed weakly against his bonds, Natasha couldn’t help but imagine the web of shrapnel dragging its way closer and closer to his heart, drawing in like an inescapable net. She bit her lip and her fingers dug into her crossed arms until they ached, but she didn’t look away.

 

“I’ll do it.” Tony struggled to force out the words between gasps. “Damn it, I’ll do it.”

 

Natasha felt a wave of something like disappointment wash against her, which quickly gave way to an overwhelming current of guilt. She couldn’t bear to look at him then, as though he would be able to read her flash of disapproval even through the mirror, and directed her gaze to Steve as the reactor was replaced. Natasha swallowed a noise of surprise at the Captain’s expression; if she hadn’t known better, she would have guessed he was the one suffering slow torture. Steve’s face flushed with color and he bared his teeth; his hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that his arms shook with strain. Though she couldn’t hear him, Natasha saw his lips form Tony’s name as the other man began to issue instructions to the captors.

 

“I’ll need nichrome wire and two mica sheets about six inches wide.” Tony paused to catch his breath, inhaling as slowly and calmly as possible through his nose. “Also, copper wire, a small circuit board, a bimetallic strip, and an electromagnet about yay big. Are you writing this down? I don't like to repeat myself—”

 

Tony continued for another minute before Bruce began to laugh, a low chuckle that slowly rose to fill the room. Natasha whipped her head to look at him as a sudden spike of irritation bordering on anger overtook her, but she restrained the urge to demand what was so funny. Instead, she merely arched an eyebrow at the doctor. Bruce smiled and turned to her.

 

“He’s telling them how to build a toaster.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

Tony strung them along for the better part of an hour—not nearly long enough. His lack of cooperation topped with outright mockery had clearly worn away at his captors; it was with obvious rage and cruel pleasure that they passed over removing the arc reactor in favor of simply beating him—enjoying the feel of fists connecting with flesh. After a particularly forceful blow to the head, his body had gone instantly, worryingly still. Once the guards realized Tony had no more to offer, all but one posted at the door had left. As they filed out, they argued over who would have the honor of killing him when the time came.

 

Nearly thirty minutes later, Tony still hadn’t moved. Natasha gave him yet another appraising look to assure herself he was unconscious instead of...worse. The glow of the arc reactor bobbed shallowly with his slow breaths, like a lighted buoy on a gentle ocean. His complexion was still pale though the reactor was connected, made all the lighter in contrast to a dusky bruise creeping over one swollen eye and a line of blood reddening his parted lips and finely manicured goatee.

 

Somehow, she felt even more anxious since the interrogation had stopped. Only the buzzing of electronics somewhere nearby and the hum of a far-off air conditioner could be heard. She had to fight the urge to talk to Banner. To soothe Steve. Anything. Natasha wondered if any of the others were also formulating an escape plan, but she had yet to decide how to communicate these thoughts without being overheard. Though she couldn’t see any cameras, they were undoubtedly being surveilled. Steve and Bruce seemed to be of the same mind. The Captain had released his strangling grip on the bars once the beating had stopped, opting instead to cross his arms tightly against his chest, and had barely moved since. He wore a dark expression but never voiced the thoughts that took ahold of him.

 

Bruce would occasionally mumble something to himself or pinch at the bridge of nose, his eyes squeezed shut as he concentrated. He paced and counted off numbers on his fingers. In contrast, Thor had simply adopted a corner of his cell, sitting silently with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. Once, Natasha heard Clint ask the Asgardian a question but it had gone unacknowledged. She wondered if Thor had received a heavier dose of the drugs; their mysterious attackers did seem to know some scope of their abilities, and their weaknesses.

 

Which was likely why Natasha was left uncollared and unarmed—mostly. Her guns and knives had already been taken, but a small spool a garrote wire remained coiled in her sleeve. It rankled her—just a bit, even after so many years—to wonder whether her captors knew of the wire and deemed her too little of a threat to care. She pushed down the thought and focused instead on getting out. The cells seemed to have electronic locking mechanisms, small boxes on the doors with flat touch screens and no keypads. If she could—

 

Before the thought could coalesce, Natasha’s attention was pulled to movement at the corner of her vision. Thor stood to position himself in the middle of his cell, his arm outstretched, fingers splayed open, and feet set apart as though bracing for an impact. Clint approached the bars and opened his mouth to speak but stopped at the sound of crashes and raised voices, heard even through the walls. An instant later, the wall burst apart in a spray of concrete that flung debris far enough to land in Natasha’s hair and patter against her feet. Though it had moved too quickly to be seen passing through the wall, Mjolnir stood in Thor’s grasp.

 

A brief smiled passed over Thor’s lips as he hefted the hammer and he gave a single laugh before suddenly stumbling. He landed on his knees with a grunt and braced himself against the floor with his free hand.

 

“Thor!” Steve came as close to the god as the cell would allow.

 

“I must regain my strength,” Thor said between heavy breaths, sounding both exhausted and frustrated. He must have been summoning as much power as possible as he sat in meditation, Natasha realized. Thor gritted his teeth. “I require a moment.”

 

“We don’t have much time,” Clint said without effort, though he was simultaneously squeezing his shoulders through a widened space between two bars made by Mjolnir as it hurtled toward its master. As though on cue, alarms sounded and a flashing red light from the other side of the wall washed the archer in crimson. He slipped through the cell a moment later and went immediately to a control panel against the wall. Natasha’s muscles tensed in preparation, taut to the point that inaction made her ache. Clint continued. “No-go. I need an access code to open the cell doors.”

 

“Thor, if you could channel a burst of electricity toward the control mechanism, it might override the system,” Bruce said quickly but without much confidence. He scratched at the back of his head and grimaced. “Or it could fry everything and we’ll have no other option for bypassing the locks.”

 

“There’s no door number two,” Natasha said plainly.

 

Steve’s brow furrowed and he gave Tony’s still form a long look before speaking.

 

“Do it.”

 

Thor nodded and heaved himself to his feet. Though clearly overtaxed, Thor held Mjolnir steady as he raised it aloft. A faint hissing sound like static on a radio reached Natasha’s ears and she felt the hairs along the back of her neck bristle. Ribbons of blue-white energy arched from the metal bars and lapped against the hammer as it began to emit a soft glow. It all occurred in a matter of seconds—the crackling sound followed by a reverberating boom as a tongue of lightning leapt toward the control panel. For a moment, all Natasha could see was a streak of purple across her vision, bright even when she closed her eyes. She blinked until the afterimage began to fade and she could see Clint back at the control panel and Thor leaning heavily against the bars, his shoulders heaving with his breaths.

 

“That rebooted the system at least. I might be able to bypass the security credentials,” Clint said and trailed off as he concentrated on the screen. From somewhere nearby, a shouted command reached the cell room and the door to the chamber where Tony was being held flew open. The large man who had orchestrated most of the interrogation stormed in—face dark and drawn—with two other guards on his heels. He barked a command at one.

 

“Just take the reactor. We don’t have time for this anymore.” The other guard nodded curtly and snapped open the metal case he had been holding, revealing a cushioned interior with a depression to cradle the reactor. He reached for Tony and Steve swallowed hard.

 

“Hawkeye.” Steve’s voice was remarkably steady and weighted with the heaviness of command; still, the urgency and need to _hurry up_ were impossible to miss.

 

“I know, Captain.” Clint’s attention never wavered from the screen, nor did his gloved fingers cease tapping against the keyboard. Only a muscle along his jaw twitched at an aborted cry from Tony that issued from the next room, the sound cut off as the interrogator closed a hand roughly over Tony’s mouth.

 

The socket in Tony’s chest was once again empty, laid open like a gaping wound. Natasha noticed with the slightest amount of relief that the case the other guard held had no lock—the reactor would be easily retrievable, assuming she could get to it in time.

 

Tony writhed and gave a small moan against the captor’s thick fingers; his dark eyes went wide and cast about the room erratically, seeming dazed and panicked. With a leering smile, the guard shifted his grip to dig his fingers along Tony’s jaw; in one forceful movement, he jerked Tony’s face to meet his and leaned forward until their noses were only inches apart.

 

“So long, Stark.” The man laughed and shoved Tony’s head against the hard table as he straightened and turned to leave. Breath burst from Tony’s lips as though he had been holding it, or he was simply beyond controlling his shuddering body. As the guards quickly filed out, unconsciousness once again claimed Tony and his eyelids slipped closed.

 

Before anyone could react, the cell doors simultaneously swung open with a low, sighing hiss. In two quick steps, Steve rushed toward the one-way mirror, his fist diving through its surface with enough force to send shards pinging off the opposite wall. He leapt through the empty frame, soon followed by Bruce and Thor; Natasha gave Clint a quick nod before they too vaulted into the next room. Steve was at Tony’s side before Natasha’s boots even touched the floor. He gave Tony a quick, appraising look—jaw set in a firm line—before heading toward the door. Natasha was a step ahead of the Captain and held up her hand to stop him.

 

“Get him out of those restraints.” She took in both Steve and Bruce as she spoke and didn’t wait for agreement before turning on her heel to exit. For the brief moment their eyes had locked, Natasha saw a deep fear hollowing out Steve’s expression, and though he offered no protest, she had to bite back an automatic impulse to promise she would get Tony’s reactor back. She never made promises, she just _did_.

 

Natasha pulled a length of the garrote wire from her sleeve as she sprinted out the door and down the hallway. She could hear the unmistakable step of Clint’s boots directly beside her—a sound as familiar as her own breathing—and Thor’s heavy footfalls not far behind. The hallway was long and straight, offering no concealment for the four guards walking swiftly away amid the high whine of the alarms and pulsing lights.

 

With a feral yell, Thor heaved Mjolnir toward the guard holding the metal case. The man slid a good distance across the floor, sprawling as the hammer slammed against the back of his knees with a meaty thump. Natasha didn’t pause, even as Thor’s pace stumbled and the remaining guards moved to draw weapons from their holsters.

 

In the next moment, she was within arm’s reach of the hulking guard; she aimed a single, precise kick at his wrist and the clatter of his gun against the floor mingled with his growling curses. She spun. Her opposite foot swung down in a sharp, scything arc until her heel clipped his jaw with a deeply satisfying thud. Caught off-guard by the force of the blow, the man dropped to his knees; one hand shot out to brace him against the fall and the other cupped over his mouth. Natasha couldn’t—nor did she care to—understand the string of angry syllables spilling from his lips, muffled by his hand and the blood welling up between his fingers. A final kick bounced his forehead against the unforgiving concrete and he crumpled under the weight of unconsciousness.

 

Quickly, she assessed her teammates. Clint had captured one guard in a sleeper hold—the man’s grip on the archer’s corded arms already falling slack and his eyes drifting up toward the back of his head. Thor merely chuckled as the other guard aimed punch after ineffectual punch against his broad, immovable frame. Natasha didn’t have time for relief, instead homing her attention on the final barrier between her and reactor.

 

The fourth guard laid pinned under the massive weight of Mjolnir against his calf but didn’t seem to grasp the futility of attempting escape. His free hand and the metal case slipped against the floor as he scrambled to find purchase. Finally noticing Natasha, he ceased struggling to glare at her, though the effect was diminished by the pallor of his complexion and the way he shuddered against the crushing pressure of the hammer. His fingers tightened on the case’s handle. Natasha arched an eyebrow and ground her boot against his knuckles until his grip gave way with a snap.

 

“Thanks,” she said flatly over his yelping cry, scooping up the case and turning back in one fluid motion. She reached Tony’s holding cell in less than half a minute, but each step tightened the knot in her stomach that had been momentarily submerged in the flood of adrenaline. As she passed the threshold into the room, Steve’s guarded expression softened.

 

“Did you—”

 

She held up the case in response and passed it to Bruce at his motion to bring it over. In the short time that she had been gone, Bruce had apparently connected the loose wires from the electromagnet to a car battery—requested during the toaster stunt for reasons Natasha couldn’t even begin to parse beyond being some sort of macabre inside joke—and Tony seemed to be relatively stable. Steve had freed Tony’s wrists and chest from the thick metal bands holding him and began to pry apart a restraint against his ankle as Clint and Thor jogged back into the room.

 

Bruce carefully lifted the reactor from the case, both marveled by its sophisticated design and anxious to restore it to Tony. With quick but deft movements, he disconnected the battery, rejoined the reactor with its mated wires, and slid the glowing core into its socket. Though quite unaware, Tony seemed to relax and let out a long, sighing breath.

 

“All right.” Steve nodded decisively before stooping to angle his arms under Tony’s shoulders and behind his knees. As though Tony weighed nothing, Steve straightened and took a step away from the blood-streaked table. Tony’s head lolled before coming to rest in the crook of Steve’s arm, the side of his face pressed into the blue uniform. The Captain tightened his hold protectively. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

“I second that.”

 

Natasha pivoted at the sound of the new voice from the doorway, only allowing her tensed readiness to drain away when the speaker stepped inside—Maria Hill. The lithe agent kept her gun drawn but seemed otherwise calm; she raised her eyebrows with a look that suggested she was both impressed and slightly surprised. “The cavalry has arrived.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently "The Cavalry" is a nickname for a character on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.? I did not know this when writing, haha!


	3. Chapter 3

Steve sighed as he reached the last page of a week-old issue of TIME magazine and returned it to the small table in the hospital waiting room. Not that he had really read it. In the middle of a word, his mind would wander to Tony. Steve had wanted to entrust him to the care of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical staff, but the base was still devastated following Loki’s emergence from the Tesseract. Agent Hill instead directed their helicopter to the nearest hospital, insisting that their doctors would be better equipped to stabilize him. She had sounded almost aloof, but Steve saw a flicker of worry cross her face as she dropped them off and escorted the remaining Avengers back to headquarters.

 

Even after hours in the hospital, Steve remained barred from Tony’s room by the staff. Not being on Tony’s list of emergency contacts—and with Pepper still hours away—he was forced to wait for Tony to be well enough to apprise him of his medical situation himself. After many polite but insistent appeals to see Tony were declined, Steve reluctantly took up a post near the nurses’ station and waited.

 

He managed to stifle another sigh and pushed his palms against his closed eyes tiredly, not bothering to look up even at the sound of someone stepping in front of him.

 

“Want some coffee?”

 

Steve lifted his head from his hands and blinked blearily until the figure before him became clear. Natasha stood dressed in civilian clothes, her bronze leather jacket and fiery hair made all the warmer by the piercing white light. Exhausted and still somewhat numbed by the captors’ drugs, Steve stared for a moment before he found words.

 

“What?”

 

“Coffee. It’s hot, has caffeine.” The barest of grins quirked Natasha’s full lips before vanishing.

 

“Yes, of course, thank you.” With effort, Steve managed a tired smile and rose to his feet. “Are you all right? The others?”

 

“Nothing aspirin can’t fix. You’re looking a little worse for wear though, Captain.” She swept an appraising look over him, pausing at a particularly large gash in his uniform—he hadn’t thought to change—and raising an eyebrow.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve said. Both of Natasha’s eyebrows went up. “Really.”

 

“And Stark?”

 

“He’s resting. I haven’t been allowed to see him yet.” Steve wanted to say more—something about how he was sure Tony would pull through—but found it impossible to form the words. His throat tightened and he swallowed hard to dispel the choking sensation.

 

“You get some rest, Steve. I can take over for a while.” Though Natasha’s tone was firm, her expression softened with concern. Steve shook his head and smiled gently.

 

“I’ll settle for that coffee.”

 

“Right,” Natasha said but didn’t leave right away. Her gaze slipped past Steve for a moment and she shifted her weight before finally nodding to herself. She turned abruptly and walked away down the empty hall without another word.

 

Steve watched her disappear through a doorway and smiled. He then thrust his arms to his sides in a wide stretch and began to circuit the room. A minute passed before a woman’s voice called to him.

 

“Mr. Rogers?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” He straightened and was instantly awake—every nerve thrummed with nervous anticipation.

 

“Mr. Stark is stable and resting comfortably now.” The nurse smiled at the obvious relief that loosened Steve’s tense expression. “He’s awake if you’d like to speak with him briefly.”

 

“I would like that very much, thank you,” Steve said quickly.

 

He followed the nurse around the corner and down a softly lit hallway, entirely forgetting to leave word for Natasha. The smell of antiseptics was thick and joined the sounds of humming, beeping machines in the chilly air. They soon arrived at an open door to a patient’s room and the nurse motioned for him to go ahead. Steve took a fortifying breath and stepped inside.

 

The room was dark except for the glow from several monitors near the bed and Tony’s arc reactor, which emitted a gauzy blue light from beneath the blanket drawn up to his chest. Even in the near-dark, Steve could make out Tony’s face—mottled with lacerations and the white fingers of butterfly closures. His eyes were closed, fanning his dark lashes against bruised skin. With a small pang of disappointment, Steve realized he was asleep.

 

“He must have drifted off,” the nurse whispered. “He’s been in and out.”

 

“May I stay?” Steve said hopefully.

 

“For a few minutes. But please don’t disturb him.”

 

“I won’t, ma’am. I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse.”

 

The nurse smiled and touched his arm reassuringly as she turned toward the doorway and walked out, leaving the two men alone. For a moment, Steve simply stood and watched. Tony’s lips—split, swollen—were slightly parted and he breathed in slow, deep breaths. A small band of wires crept out from under the blanket like vines and fed into the bank of machines that displayed his vitals. Steve was comforted by the steady green thread of dips and rises on the adjacent heart monitor but felt somehow reluctant to approach his friend, as though any movement would dispel the illusion of Tony being alive and, relatively, well. He sighed and stepped to the bedside.

 

From up close, Tony’s many injuries were even more apparent. Bruises stained his skin like spilt wine and both wrists were encircled with bandages where he had struggled against the unyielding metal restraints. Though not awake, Tony was far from peacefully asleep. Every so often, his entire body would tremble or a plaintive moan would seep from his lips.

 

“Tony...” Steve drew his eyes away from Tony’s pained expression, feeling somewhat ashamed to witness him at his most vulnerable when he was normally so proud and blasé.

 

His gaze fell to the arc reactor. The blanket had slipped down during Tony’s fitful movements, exposing a sliver of the reactor that shone like a curve of blue sunlight over the lip of a hill. A dark nimbus of bruised skin encircled the edges of the arc reactor and joined with small silvery scars that marked where shrapnel had lodged years ago.

 

Steve leaned in and picked up the corner of the blanket to cover Tony’s chest, but he paused before replacing the bedding, admittedly curious to see the arc reactor up close. Like so many things in this new age Steve found himself in, the technology of the arc reactor was beyond comprehension, yet at the same time it felt oddly familiar. Tony’s father had been instrumental in Steve’s transformation, after all, and the reactor’s sharp azure light recalled memories of the Super Soldier Serum as it surged through and reassembled every cell of his body. He glimpsed signs of the reactor nearly every day—its light peeking out from behind the logo of a band t-shirt or between the seams of a suit of armor—yet he simply couldn’t look away now that it was laid bare.

 

Though somewhat hesitant, Steve’s hand was steady as he reached for the arc reactor. Gently, he touched its glassy surface, slices of light blinking out under his fingers. The reactor was cool to the touch, he realized with surprise; somehow, he always thought something so powerful must burn like a ravenous fire. He slowly drew his hand along the reactor, tracing its curving metallic edge with the pads of his fingers, before he felt a violent push against his arm that wrenched it away. The movement was so sudden that Steve was too startled to realize what had happened until Tony’s strained voice reached his ears.

 

“Stop! Get away from me!” Tony’s eyes were impossibly wide, irises completely ink-black in the dark, and he stared at Steve with unmistakable fear and confusion. One bandaged hand continued to push against Steve with mindless desperation and Tony shrank back into his pillows. “Obadiah, stop!”

 

“Tony! It’s me, Steve.” Instinctively, Steve moved to put a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder, but as the space closed between them, Tony grew more frantic.

 

“Get back!” He struggled to right himself, blindly grasping for purchase against the bed’s railing. The heart rate monitor began to shriek and its screen filled with erratic, jagged lines that grew like cracks splintering through glass. Suddenly afraid for Tony’s wellbeing, and realizing he was the cause of his distress, Steve slowly began to back away. He lifted his hands in a placating gesture, like calming a startled animal.

 

“Tony, you’re safe now.” Steve tried to sound as soothing as possible, but his words had little effect. Tony flinched at his voice and gripped the edge of the bed until his knuckles went bone-white. No breath of recognition touched his fear-blinded eyes as his gaze darted across the room, seemingly searching for a path of escape. The heart monitor continued to chirp insistently but was soon overpowered by the sound of footfalls rushing down the hall.

 

The nurse who had escorted Steve to Tony’s room entered with a male nurse in tow, both cooly straight-faced. As she approached his bed, she produced a syringe and nodded to the other nurse; he straightened but made no move toward Tony, who eyed him with obvious distrust.

 

“Mr. Stark,” she said, “I’m going to give you a mild sedative to help you calm down.”

 

“No—you stay away!” He tried to jerk back but was stopped as the other nurse firmly grasped his upper arms and pressed him against the bed. Tony writhed and opened his mouth to protest but only a small sob escaped, choked with panic.

 

Paralyzed by helplessness, Steve could only watch as the nurse inserted the syringe into the IV tubing and depressed the plunger. Tony stopped struggling almost instantly and relaxed into the pillows with a hitching sigh.

  
As the nurses readjusted Tony’s bedding and checked his vitals, Steve turned away, head lowered, and walked toward the door. When he raised his eyes, he saw Natasha standing just outside the doorway—brow furrowed, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. They exchanged a knowing look and neither spoke a word.


	4. Chapter 4

“You don’t want to go in there,” Happy said with barely a look at Steve before his eyes latched back onto his tablet. “Hospitals make him cranky.” 

Happy only seemed half-interested in whatever the tablet contained and blinked slowly, one eyelid following the other. The screen’s harsh white light accentuated the bags under Happy’s eyes, and he looked rather “cranky” himself. He likely hadn’t moved from that small chair outside Tony’s hospital room for several hours—not since he and Pepper had arrived in the grey dawn hours. 

Steve had been admittedly relieved to return to Avengers headquarters then—to shed his ruined uniform and take a shower—but his thoughts had stayed behind. He no longer held doubts about Tony’s physical recovery, but Tony’s panicked reaction replayed in Steve’s mind over and over like a skipping record. He had been stupid—he knew—to have touched the arc reactor without Tony’s permission, or even his awareness. Especially after what had just happened. Steve sighed to think of it yet again and steeled himself for making an apology.

At the sound of Steve’s sigh, Happy placed the tablet in his lap and really looked at him.

“Where’s your usual Boy Scout attitude? He’s going to be fine you know.” Happy smirked. “Or is that why your tights are in a bunch? Thought you’d finally gotten him out of your perfectly coiffed hair?” His teasing nonchalance had morphed into annoyance, or even something more, but Steve could tell it wasn’t directed at him.

“Nothing like that,” Steve smiled obligingly. He didn’t know much about Happy and Tony’s relationship, but he did know that Happy had moved beyond simply being a bodyguard. Still, Steve also knew how comforting it could be to hold onto what felt familiar, and Happy seemed to belong at his post outside the door. So instead of asking why he wasn’t in the room with Tony, Steve simply pressed ahead. “May I go in?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Steve knocked once on the door and was quickly answered.

“Come in!” 

Tony’s voice sounded strong, almost chipper, and Steve pushed inside. Before he even completely closed the door behind him, Tony piped up again.

“Can you believe this?” 

He couldn’t. Tony seemed instantly, impossibly better. He was out of the bed, for one, standing only in his boxer shorts, one leg halfway into a pair of jeans. Tony’s arms and torso were still livid with bruises, visible in the few places where his skin peeked out between swaths of bandages, but he only grimaced slightly as he tugged on his pants. Though Steve continued to stare appraisingly, Tony didn’t even spare him a glance, his eyes fixed on the television mounted in the corner of the room. He jabbed a finger at the screen. “Are you hearing these guys?”

Steve was glad to see his friend so animated and obliged him by turning his attention to the TV. He was only mildly surprised to see the very hospital they were standing in fill the screen, a chirpy brunette reporter situated near its entrance.

“Famous billionaire-turned-superhero Tony Stark, better known to many as Iron Man, was hospitalized late last night for unknown reasons. Though, our investigations have led us to believe that he was injured while in defense of the city.” Her face contorted with practiced sympathy. “Fortunately, this world-famous member of the Avengers is considered in stable condition and is due to be released later today...”

“She said it again! “Member” of the Avengers,” Tony said, uncrossing his arms to make exaggerated air quotes. “I’m obviously the leader.”

Finally, Tony looked to Steve, his lips slanting into a half-smile. One eye was puffy and washed with a purple bruise, but his gaze was sharp and clear. Steve felt himself smiling back.

“The rest of us are just the Robin to your Batman?” 

“I’m impressed, Cap,” Tony said brightly. “You’ll earn your pop culture merit badge soon enough.”

“Batman’s older than Captain America, you know.”

“Batman’s not real.”

“The comic books, Tony.”

“Huh. The more things change...” Tony turned his head back toward the television, distracted. “I bet you didn’t have this damn 24-hour news _back in your day_. All dirty laundry, all the time.” 

Steve heard a slight edge to Tony’s voice. The TV obviously wasn’t helping, so he stepped forward to pluck the remote control from where it had been tossed on the bed. Tony seemed to have the same idea and simultaneously reached for the remote, fumbling in the sheets without looking. He hadn’t heard Steve approach, and when his hand bumped Steve’s, he pulled away like he had been burned. 

The look of wild fear that shadowed Tony’s face only lasted for a moment—almost too quickly to notice—but Steve felt it bore into his chest. He clicked off the television and a swell of silence rushed in to fill the space. A moment passed with only Tony’s quick breaths puncturing the quiet. 

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve said softly. “About last night.”

“You’re sorry for pulling me out of that place? Didn’t think you’d regret saving me so soon.” He flashed a smile like brandishing a weapon. 

“You know that’s not what I meant. Here, at the hospital—”

“I’m fine.” Tony’s expression instantly flattened and he lifted his hands as though he could push away Steve’s words. “I’m fine. Forget about it. I already have.”

Steve hesitated before nodding once.

“All right.” 

They didn’t speak further as Tony pulled on a t-shirt. Guiding his arms through the sleeves obviously pained him—his eyes squeezed shut, his shaky breath interrupted by small grunts—but Steve made no offer of help, knowing he’d be refused. At least a minute passed before Tony was fully in the shirt, the arc reactor’s light making a bright halo through the fabric. 

“So did Papa Fury send you here to escort me to some S.H.I.E.L.D. debriefing?” Tony rounded the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

“No. I wanted to see how you were doing,” Steve said. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if Fury has plans for you.”

“Unless those plans involve a double cheeseburger and whiskey on the rocks, he can shove—”

“Someone’s feeling better.” The bright voice came from the doorway where Pepper stood with one hand on her canted hip. She looked relieved, a little bemused, and a lot tired. Her clothes were crisp and clean and her gilt red hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, but the exhaustion around her eyes couldn’t be concealed. Still, she took in both Tony and Steve with a smile that softened some of the creases. 

“Steve, thank you for coming,” she said as she walked toward him. Even wearing tall heels, she had to stand on tip-toe to brush a kiss against his cheek.

“Of course.” He had seen Pepper when she had arrived much earlier that morning, when Tony was still flitting in and out of consciousness, but they had exchanged few words then. Not because they didn’t know what to say, but because they both could see themselves perfectly reflected in the other. One look and it was clear they were drinking from the same deep well of worry and anger at their own helplessness. 

Even now that Tony was out of the woods, Steve felt he couldn’t—and didn’t need to—articulate more to Pepper. She held his eyes for a moment before moving to Tony’s side.

“Tony.” His name escaped her lips as a sigh—breathless and a little disbelieving. She embraced him firmly, as though her touch would be enough to anchor him. Keep him from slipping away. Another squeeze elicited a startled yelp from Tony.

“Ow! Careful, they just finished putting me back together.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Pepper bit down on her bottom lip. “I know you said so on the phone but—”

“I’m fine,” Tony said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I would feel even better if you were back in Geneva. The CEO of Stark Industries can’t be running off every time her boyfriend gets himself into trouble.”

“ _Boyfriend_?” Pepper snorted. “Are—are we in high school? Are you going to ask me to the prom?”

“You know what I mean.” His look was gentle, reassuring, as he clasped his hands to her shoulders. “Seriously though, you’ll never get anything done otherwise. I promise I’ll only fly off into interdimensional space portals once—maybe twice a year.”

“Maybe I should stay.”

“Pepper—”

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t here.” Pepper’s attempt to match Tony’s easy flippancy had frayed and was pulling apart. Her lips worked silently for a moment, and when she did speak, her words caught in her throat. “When you needed me the most, I wasn’t here.” 

Tony said nothing, pulling her to his chest and rubbing one hand soothingly between her shoulder blades. Her face pressed against him, Pepper couldn’t see the pained, guilty look that glazed over Tony’s eyes. Steve decided it was past time for him to go.

He hoped to silently slip out the door, unnoticed, but Pepper looked up as he walked past.

“Steve.” The arc reactor bathed her face in blue light, glancing off a smudge of tears that crossed her cheek. “You’ll make sure he stays in one piece?”

“I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, everyone! I've been loving your comments and encouragement—thank you, thank you!
> 
> More of the Avengers family in the next chapter :3


	5. Chapter 5

Steve and Natasha’s entrance to Stark Tower was met with the usual easy greetings. Without even looking up, Clint waved from his seat on a sprawling leather couch, his feet on an expensive-looking table. Bruce stood with a small hello before settling back into place beside Clint. From his vantage near the windows, Thor turned away and strode toward the group to join them—his huge frame loomed stark against the skyline like another jutting skyscraper.

Steve and Natasha had come straight from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and asked the others to be ready to meet them. Within seconds upon arrival, Natasha knew someone was conspicuously, unsurprisingly absent.

“Where’s Stark?” The sigh in Steve’s voice told Natasha that he already knew, but he scanned the faces of the other Avengers for an answer. “He should be here for this.”

“The lab. Where else?” Clint said around a slurp of coffee. 

“He said he’d be up in a minute. Ten minutes ago...” Bruce offered almost apologetically. He shifted under Steve’s stare, the leather couch cushions beneath him squeaking, and he peeled off his glasses. Though the lenses were clean, he busied himself with pinching them between the folds of his shirt.

Before the incident...The kidnapping? The average day in the life of an Avenger? Before, Natasha would have been surprised to see Bruce outside of the lab while Tony was tinkering away. Tony relished having an audience to impress, but more than that, he loved sharing his enthusiasm with Dr. Banner—someone who could run alongside his brilliance instead of struggling to catch up.

But in the last week, it appeared as though Tony’s unspoken open invitation to Bruce had been rescinded. He was back in his sandbox and not sharing his toys. Natasha sighed and saw the motion mirrored in Bruce.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., what’s the status on Stark?” she said and crossed to an empty couch, leaning her hip against its arm.

“I am not permitted to divulge Mr. Stark’s whereabouts, Agent Romanoff.” Natasha thought she detected a twinge of exasperation under the AI’s politely professional tone. If that were even possible.

“Can you at least tell him we’re here?”

“I have been forbidden from disturbing him except for under the most extreme circumstances,” J.A.R.V.I.S. continued crisply. “I believe his exact words were ‘Unless Fury sprouts a new eye or Clint gets pecked by a radioactive hawk, I—’”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Tony finished as he moseyed out of the elevator. 

Natasha had seen him a few times since the incident, but she was still surprised by how visibly it had affected him. The bruises across his eyes had faded but were now replaced with dark smudges brought on by lack of sleep. He wasn’t exactly disheveled, but for someone who was typically so meticulously put together, even the smallest blemish was glaring. The usually sharp corners of his goatee had grown fuzzy with a few days’ stubble, and he was wearing the same jeans she had seen him in two days before—if the machine oil stain making an apostrophe above his knee were any indication.

It wasn’t until a bemused and slightly annoyed expression crossed Tony’s face that Natasha realized the room had gone silent. She wasn’t the only one appraising him, and he had noticed.

“Uh. Hey, guys,” Tony’s voice sounded questioning, defensive. “An intervention already? Can’t say I’m surprised, except that Rhodey didn’t show up.”

“Stark,” Steve said in terse greeting, refusing to be baited. He paused for a moment to take in everyone. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has new intel on the group that attacked us last week.”

“You mean the guys who kicked our asses?” Clint grimaced as he spoke.

“The same. S.H.I.E.L.D. is calling them ‘Corvus’—scavengers of sorts. They steal highly advanced or alien technology wherever they can find it. Which should come as no surprise seeing how badly they wanted the arc reactor.”

Tony snorted derisively as he ambled toward the couch Natasha was resting against and plopped into the cushions on its opposite end.

“Those power-suppressing collars were fashioned from Chitauri technology they modified,” Steve continued.

“What is their purpose?” Thor said with a scowl. His mood had darkened instantly upon mention of the Chitauri, no doubt reminded of Loki’s role in the invasion.

“I’ll go out on a limb here and guess ‘world domination.’” Bruce smiled wanly.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t quite sure what to make of these guys. They’ve only just appeared on their radar. No demands or communication has been made...”

As Steve relayed the information, Natasha allowed her attention to wander, having heard it all herself less than an hour before. She looked sidelong at Tony, who didn’t seem to be listening to Steve at all. His dark eyes flitted from left to right like he was reading something on the far wall—probably working through some mental calculation—and he bounced his foot incessantly.

He only stopped fidgeting when Thor eased himself onto the couch beside him. Tony went still and tensed, as though he were preparing to bolt from his seat. Though there was ample room between them, Tony glanced warily at Thor as the Asgardian unfolded his limbs and sprawled one thick arm across the back of the couch, his fingers nearing Tony’s shoulder. Natasha saw Tony swallow as he scooted a few inches away. 

“...but there is good news.” Steve’s voice came back into focus. “S.H.I.E.L.D. intercepted a message detailing Corvus’s plans to attack Stark Tower.”

“I’d hate to hear the bad news,” Clint said, unconvinced.

“This could be our best chance not just to stop one of Corvus's attacks, but eradicate them entirely,” Natasha explained and moved to stand beside Steve. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is working on a strong lead to find their base of operations. If it pans out, we can hit their home base and whatever goons they send to Stark Tower simultaneously—take them out while they’re divided and least expecting a counter-move.”

It was a simple plan, but a solid one, and Natasha saw the others nodding in agreement.

“When is this attack supposed to happen?”

“Two days from now.”

“That should give me enough time...” Tony said quietly to no one in particular, his eyes once again roaming, almost as though he hadn’t intended to be heard.

“Enough time for what, Stark?” Steve crossed his arms and pinned Tony with a sharp look.

“What?” Jerked from his thoughts, Tony fumbled for the right words. “Oh, you know, dig a moat around the tower, batten down the hatches, that sort of thing.” 

“I can help you build out the tower’s defenses,” Bruce said eagerly. “The underlying principles of your repulsor beam technology could be adapted to—”

“The emergency defense protocols just need an update, that’s all. A one-genius job really,” Tony said quickly, already getting to his feet and sidling toward the elevator. “So if we’re done here...”

“Tony.” Clint jabbed a finger in his direction. “You’re bleeding.”

All eyes followed Clint’s to a small spot of blood darkening Tony’s shirt, just above the glowing ring of the arc reactor. Instinctively, Tony brought his fingers to his nose, but they came away clean. In the few seconds that had passed, Natasha saw the red stain bloom larger, slicking the shirt to Tony’s chest.

“Uh, I cut myself shaving?” Tony said with a shaky laugh that instantly fell away. His attempt at nonchalance was belied by the cagey, nervous look he cast at the others. Tony stabbed his finger against the elevator’s controls and sighed with relief when the doors slid open a moment later. He stepped inside without hesitation. “Keep me updated.” 

“Stark!” Steve called out to Tony, but the elevator had already whispered shut. 

When Natasha looked back to Steve, his face was stern and a muscle clenched against the line of his jaw. But the obvious annoyance that he had worn moments before was disappearing, thawing as the warmth of concern suffused him. He looked thoughtfully from one Avenger to the next—met with equally grave expressions—before stopping at Bruce.

“Dr. Banner. Find a way to get us into Stark’s lab.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that Age of Ultron trailer?! It got my creative juices flowing ;) Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

 

Steve tried not to appear too eager as he turned to face the arriving elevator. Its doors opened to admit Tony.

“Tony,” Steve said with more cheerfulness than he felt, having spent the last two hours waiting for Tony to emerge from his lab and mentally rehearsing what to say once he did. He shut his sketchbook and set it on the table. “Good morning.”

Tony stopped in his tracks and his eyes flicked to the elevator as though he were considering fleeing back inside. A beat passed before he apparently decided against it, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Captain,” he said and made his way toward the kitchenette in the corner. “Why am I not surprised that you're a morning person? "

"The same reason why I’m not surprised that you’ve been up all night.” It was a guess, but one that Tony didn’t contest.

Tony had at least changed his clothes since the day before—no spots of blood to be seen—but that did little to refresh his appearance. Creases lined the undersides of Tony’s pinched, tired eyes and there was a slowness to his movements as he reached for the coffee pot. His hand shook slightly as he poured the coffee, but he managed to get its few remains into a mug.

“Tank’s empty downstairs,” Tony said by way of explanation and raised the mug in a sort of salute. “Now if you’ll excuse me. That code’s not going to compile itself.”

“Wait,” Steve said quickly, unprepared for Tony to attempt his exit so soon. He stepped between Tony and the elevator, instantly feeling guilty when he was met with a wary look. “Why don’t you join me for breakfast? I was just about to go to the kitchens, make some French toast.”

“That’s awfully Un-American, Cap.”

“Pancakes, then,” Steve said around a laugh. A genuine laugh that deepened as it coaxed a smile from Tony. For a moment, the darkness in Tony’s eyes lightened, and Steve wondered just how long it had been since he had last seen him so unguarded.

“Make them blueberry and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Tony said, already making his way for the door.

“Copy that.”

Steve allowed Tony to get a few steps ahead of him. Once Tony’s back was turned, Steve pushed a small button on his watch, his smile slipping away, and followed after.

 

 

* * *

 

A red light pulsed on Natasha’s wristband, drawing her and Bruce’s eyes.

“We’re up.” She pressed a button to extinguish the light and motioned to the hallway with a tilt of her head.

“I guess that means Operation: Distract Tony was a success?” Bruce sounded dubious, or reluctant to continue with the second phase of the plan. Still, he was right behind Natasha as they rounded the corner and found themselves standing in front of Tony’s lab.

“Investigation first, quips later. We don’t know how long Steve can keep him away,” Natasha said firmly. “Your turn, Doctor.”

“If Tony revoked my access...”

“Only one way to find out.” She directed a pointed look at the control panel on the door.

Bruce reached out his hand but skirted it away from the panel at the last moment, running his fingers through his hair instead. Just as Natasha was about to remind him that they didn’t have much time, he brought his hand back to the door with a sigh.

“I want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea,” he grumbled but proceeded to tap in a numerical code on the touchscreen.

“Noted,” Natasha said dryly.

The digital keypad morphed to display a handprint, which Bruce pressed his palm against. A second passed before the panel emitted a soft beep and the door swished open.

“Nice to see you again, Dr. Banner.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Bruce said to the air with a mixture of relief and surprise. He looked to Natasha once more, took a deep breath, and stepped through the door, which swiftly shut behind him.

Natasha watched Bruce through the glass wall as he approached a console and bright animated windows sprang to life before him. His fingers flew across the lighted panels in midair, and a moment later, the door slid open once more. Bruce motioned her through.

“That was quick.” She reflexively dodged a bundle of code that glided past as Bruce flicked the window aside.

“I restarted J.A.R.V.I.S., essentially. His boot cycle takes a few minutes, so we need to find whatever we’re looking for fast—before he has time to warn Tony,” Bruce said, his eyes never leaving the glowing panels that surrounded him.

“And you got me in.”

“Tony had already granted you access to his lab—apparently—and his system.” Bruce spared a look at her then, reproach clear in his eyes. “I guess he does trust us. But after this little stunt...”

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it,” Natasha cut in. “So how do I steer this thing?”

“It’s probably the most intuitive user interface in the world—you’ll get the hang of it.” Bruce trailed off as he became once again absorbed in Tony’s files, the reflections of shifting windows darting across his glasses. Natasha clenched her jaw and wondered where to start.

Ostensibly, Tony was supposed to be bolstering the tower’s defense system in preparation for the Corvus attack looming on the horizon. Though, he had ferreted himself away in his lab long before they had decided on that plan. And she doubted whether the defenses even needed a tune-up in the first place. Without much confidence, Natasha typed “Corvus defense” in the keyboard suspended before her, watching as snippets of Corvus’s weapon schematics flitted into view.

Half a minute passed, and Natasha felt no closer to any useful information. She waved away a screen. Bruce mumbled unhappily.

“Where’s the ‘recently closed tabs’ when you need ‘em?” Natasha said around a smirk.

“Of course!” Bruce suddenly became a flurry of motion. All the models and diagrams that had been swirling around him fell away, replaced by a single blank screen. “I just have to configure these parameters to show cached files modified within a certain time period. Say, between midnight and 10 minutes ago...”

He typed so quickly that Natasha almost missed his hands shaking, whether from nervousness or excitement, she couldn’t be sure. Triumphantly, Bruce poked his finger at a large holographic button and a multitude of panels burst into the air.

Dominating Natasha's view was a semi-transparent, three-dimensional hologram of the arc reactor, surrounded by intricate paths of veins, the wall of a sternum, and a heart pulsing beneath. Throughout it all, dark shards of shrapnel hung ominously—poised like vultures among the branching veins. Natasha was looking inside Tony.

She felt her own chest tighten with worry as she eyed Bruce.

“What is all this?”

“I’m not sure. But I can execute this command—” Bruce pointed at a line of code by his elbow. “—to run the simulation Tony was working on.” He sounded like he was proposing kicking a kitten, he was so reluctant.

Natasha nodded and Bruce tapped in the command.

A single section of the arc reactor glowed, a trail of numbers scrolling beside it. Then, a simulated heart rate monitor appeared just below the reactor. It maintained a steady line, predictably jumping and falling to sketch out low hills and valleys.

The same slice of the reactor gave a quick pulse, and the nearest shrapnel slid outward ever so slightly. The movement was subtle enough that Natasha thought she had imagined it, but as the reactor remained illuminated, the fleck of shrapnel continued its migration.

Natasha held her breath as the sinister fang of metal snaked between two thready veins, narrowly sliding around their tender walls. Breathless and silent, she watched its progression, until—at last—it breached the skin. The program issued a cheery beep and messages of success overlaid the other readings. Natasha was anything but assured.

“Don’t tell me he’s doing what I think he’s doing,” she said after a beat of silence, taking in Bruce with a hard look.

“If what you think he’s doing is modulating the reactor’s magnetic field to remove the shrapnel piece by piece...” Bruce shrugged helplessly. “Then I won’t tell you.”

 

 

* * *

 

Steve found himself focusing more on the shush of his whisk through the pancake batter than Tony’s endless chatter, which had started the moment they had set foot in the hallway.

Tony must have sensed that Steve wanted to talk and decided it was best not to let him get a word in edgewise. So Steve had silently endured as Tony’s uninterrupted stream of anecdotes and non sequiturs flowed past him, as insubstantial as vapor.

“...and then Dum-E hit _me_ with the fire extinguisher. Maybe Elon Musk is right about—”

Steve couldn’t stomach it any longer.

“Tony!” Steve set down the bowl more firmly than he had intended, sending batter spouting over one side. The thud was enough to startle Tony into silence. Steve swallowed an instinct to apologize before pushing on. “Something’s wrong.”

“What? Did you stir it too much?” Tony swiped a finger through the spilled pancake batter and brought it to his lips. He sucked one finger clean and made an appraising sound, though Steve suspected he was testing his next words more than the batter. “Yep, too gummy. Not that I’m surprised—you were gripping that whisk like it was Hitler’s neck.”

“Stop deflecting. Do you _ever_ answer a direct question?”

“Depends. Do you ever ask one?” Tony flashed a razor-sharp smile, teeth bared and glinting.

Steve wanted to protest, but he realized Tony was right. As reluctant as Tony was to talk about his capture, Steve was just as hesitant to tackle the subject head-on. He had been poking at the edges of Tony’s wounds and expecting him to willingly lay them bare. Of course Tony would fold in on himself instead. Protect himself from yet another intrusion.

Steve took a deep breath.

“Are you alright, Tony?”

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Tony said with satisfaction, but a tense silence followed that he had no intention of breaking. He eyed Steve and crossed his arms, not yet ready to relent.

“You haven’t been your usual self since Corvus...” Steve tried again. He needed to sound concerned but not admonishing. Warm, but not coddling. Typically, he wouldn’t give so much weight to each word, but the bridge between he and Tony was already crumbling, and he had to step carefully. “I’m worried about you—we all are.”

Steve saw Tony prickle at mention of the team worrying over him, but he gradually relaxed as he processed what Steve had said. This time, the quiet in the room was calming, and Tony’s voice eased into it.

“This...” Tony tapped at the arc reactor with two fingers. “This attracts just as much danger as it keeps away. Sure, it stops the shrapnel, but it’s always _pulling_ at the wrong people. It draws out the worst in anyone who gets too close.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully, waiting for Tony to continue. Willing him to keep talking.

“Corvus was just next in a long line. After the Ten Rings, and Obadiah,” Tony said. His gaze slid away from Steve and his arms tightened across his chest. “I can’t tell whether anyone gives a single shit about me, or whether it’s all about the arc reactor.”

“The reactor would never have been created if it weren’t for you. You can’t have one without the other.” Steve meant it as a compliment, an assurance of Tony’s worth, yet Tony scoffed at the remark.

“No, the reactor can do just fine on its own. Wish I could say the same.” Bitterness clung to Tony’s words, each one growing more heated and picking up speed. “The reactor’s not part of me, it’s _more_ than me. More important than what’s beating behind it. I’m an inconvenience—the cereal you dump out to get to the prize inside.”

“Tony—”

“Corvus knows it. Obadiah knew it. It’s only a matter of time before the reactor leaves me, one way or another,” Tony said, but with surprisingly more relief than anger.

“Tony,” Steve said, disconcerted, and had to repeat his name twice more before Tony’s eyes finally met his. “You’re not just some inconvenience. What you are is a pain in the rear sometimes...”

Tony conceded the point with a half-hearted shrug.

“But you should be proud of the arc reactor. The technology you’ve created will help countless people for decades. Maybe even change the world.”

“But that’s exactly—” Tony began before Steve held up a hand to quiet him.

“You’re convinced no one would miss Tony Stark as long as the arc reactor’s around, but I don’t see it that way. The reactor...it’s a reflection of everything good and brilliant about you. But it’s just that: a reflection. And it needs you to mirror.”

Somewhere along the way, Steve had forgotten to temper every word and simply barreled forward. The sentiment sounded clumsy, even to his own ears, but at least it was honest.

Tony shook his head and looked ready to protest, mouth caught open, but he paused. Slowly, the lines in his face softened and he let out a breath of a laugh. Ducking his chin, he peered at Steve from under his eyelashes.

“Thanks, Cap.”

“Between you and me, I’d rather have Tony Stark than whatever his brain has cooked up,” Steve said and allowed himself to smile.

“Now you’re just embarrassing me. And yourself.” Through his feigned annoyance, Tony was smiling too.

“You’re right—I should stop. If your head gets any bigger, it won’t fit in that helmet.” Steve could feel an almost physical lightening of the mood, the atmosphere no longer pushing against him but lifting away instead.

“Hey, no one told you to stop. My ego can always use a good—” Tony suddenly went quiet and his hand flew to his ear to press at the earpiece inside. His attention drawn away, he squinted as he listened attentively. “Hold on. I’m getting an urgent message from J.A.R.V.I.S.”

Where the air had cleared only moments before, a cold dread rushed in to fill the space, and Steve felt uneasiness tighten around him like icy water.

Interminable seconds passed before Tony’s eyes shot to Steve. A look of accusation and hurt contorted his face, as pained as if he had been slapped.

“I’ll be right there,” Tony said to J.A.R.V.I.S., his eyes not leaving Steve’s. There was an anger there now. A dark fire searing through his gaze that somehow left Steve feeling even colder. Tony’s voice was choked and incredulous when he spoke next. “Just when I thought you might actually care...”

“Tony, I can explain.” Steve said it softly, but Tony flinched and took a step back.

“No need. I understand perfectly.” He bit out each word and turned away before Steve had time to even think of responding.

Tony stormed out of the room, and Steve followed a pace behind, his calls to Tony going unanswered as they rushed down the hall.

 

 

* * *

 

The doors to the lab swished open quietly, though by the look on Tony’s face, he would have ripped them off their non-existent hinges given the chance.

Natasha stepped away from the hologram of the arc reactor and Bruce quickly dropped his hands from the keyboard, but it was too late to disguise what they had been doing. Tony raked a pointed look across them both, darting a quick glance at the simulation before again pinning Banner with his glare.

“Et tu, Bruce?”

“Tony, listen, I’m sorry...” Bruce began. There was genuine remorse in his voice, but it was warring with anger and disappointment. He trailed off and pushed a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

While Bruce spoke, Steve slunk into the lab on Tony’s heels. He gave Natasha an apologetic look, which she met with a shrug: It all had to come to a head sooner or later, and there was nothing any of them could do to avoid it now.

She watched Steve as his eyes moved from her to the hologram looming between them. To the glowing reactor. The simulated heart monitor and the splinters of shrapnel. As he took it all in, his expression grew steadily cloudier.

“What’s going on here?” It was more of a demand than a question—one that Steve leveled at Tony disapprovingly.

“Gosh, I don’t know! Why don’t we let Nancy Drew and Encyclopedia Brown explain it to us,” Tony said with mock cheerfulness. “Go on. I’d _love_ to hear what you have to say for yourselves.”

“Tony is...” Bruce said but stopped, unsure of how to explain with the subject standing right in front of him. Tony gave an exaggerated gesture for Bruce to continue. He did, but with obvious discomfort. “Tony created a program to selectively alter the arc reactor’s magnetic field. Right now, the reactor keeps the shrapnel in a sort of stasis—away from his heart. But by modulating the field in controlled, directed bursts, a piece of shrapnel could be guided out of the body. In theory.”

Tony applauded.

“Bravo, Doctor. Right on all accounts, except for one.”

“It’s not just theoretical—you’ve already done it,” Natasha said. Though she was confident she was right, it gave her no satisfaction. Instead, the certainty chilled her. “The blood on your shirt yesterday...”

“Yep. One piece of shrapnel down, seventeen more to go.” Despite the situation, Tony seemed rather pleased with his success. “I planned to remove them all then, but the field-modulation controls need some tweaking—too imprecise. And, turns out, shrapnel hurts just as much coming out as going in. Bled like a son of a bitch too, right through the bandage. Better to pace myself.”

Either Tony was oblivious to the looks of worry and disbelief directed at him, or he was simply past caring. He took a breath to say more, but Steve interjected hotly.

“Why are you doing this?”

“ _Why?_ Weren’t you listening at all?” Tony fired back at him. “I’m through with Tony Stark and the arc reactor being a packaged deal. Once I remove the shrapnel, I can remove the arc reactor—I won’t need this damn thing inside me any more.”

“But...You’ve consulted countless doctors about this. Expert surgeons who said it wasn’t possible to remove the shrapnel safely,” Bruce countered.

“Didn’t you get the memo? Tony Stark is the smartest person alive, and he knows better than literally everyone else,” Natasha said archly. Her worry—and patience—for Tony was wearing thin.

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

“So that pep talk you gave me before, about how the reactor is part of you now. About how the... the other guy is some kind of terrible privilege. Did you mean any of it?” As Bruce spoke, his voice dwindled, sounding miserable and wounded. The doctor even looked somehow small and wouldn’t quite meet Tony’s eyes. Natasha felt a pang, and Tony was visibly taken aback.

“No, Bruce, I meant every word of it then,” Tony said softly, slowly, as though he were trying to talk down the big guy instead of Doctor Banner. “But, I was wrong about the reactor. I see that now.”

“You sure that’s the part you’re wrong about?” Natasha knew goading Tony would only make him double down, but she couldn’t help herself when he was being so infuriating.

“I’m not the one who needs to explain myself!” Tony rounded on Natasha, and she almost regretted allowing her unchecked anger to feed his. “In fact, you should be thanking me. I’m not doing this only for my sake. I’m helping the team—I won’t be the weak link dragging everyone down anymore.”

Steve scoffed.

“Helping us...By not telling us anything? How can we trust you, as your teammates, when you’ve been keeping this secret?”

“Oh, you want to talk about trust? You faked a little heart-to-heart as some diversionary tactic. So you could...what? Get into my lab, get to my technology. Sound familiar?” Tony’s fury burned into every syllable and the volume of his voice rose with the heat of it.

“Tony, that’s not why I—”

“You lied to me. You _used_ me, just like everyone else!” Under the strain of emotion, Tony began to crumble. His voice quavered, his rage momentarily vanishing as anguish overtook it, and he gulped for air in sobbing breaths. “I don’t—”

All at once, the holograms suspended throughout the lab collapsed and disappeared with a blink. In their place, flashing red warnings shot up and a siren howled to life close by. Alarmed, Natasha looked to Tony for an explanation, but he was just as perplexed as she. Awash with the red light, his wide-eyed expression took on a wild tinge that grew more and more panicked as he scanned the lab.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. what—”

Every word and thought fled as the entire tower gave a sudden, wrenching lurch, chased by the resonate boom of an explosion—as huge and thundering as Thor’s most wrathful blows. Propelled by pure instinct, Natasha grabbed at a nearby workbench and steadied herself against it as the floor continued to shudder violently beneath her feet.

Another blast followed, its sound and force slamming against Natasha like a tidal wave. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even see, as the overhead lights faltered and plunged her into darkness. She could only wait for the barrage to stop. Too slowly, seconds passed before the building steadied and then stilled.

Noises gradually reached Natasha then, pushing through the muzzy hum in her ears and the blunt throb of her heart, which beat so strongly she could feel it in her fingertips. The lab’s lights stuttered back on and its warning system continued to wail, joined by the shrill, discordant beeping of several more tripped alarms.

Over the cacophony, Natasha heard a groan and shuffling movements, and she scanned the room for her teammates. Though the explosions could not have struck more than a floor or two away, the lab appeared to be mostly intact—as was Bruce, who was brushing himself off shakily.

Tony had fallen to the floor, and a small storage cabinet pinned one leg, but he looked more annoyed than injured. With a huff, he kicked the offending piece of furniture away, which Steve sidestepped as he approached Tony’s side.

Steve stretched out his hand. Tony eyed him doubtfully, his jaw clenched. Finally, reluctantly, he grasped Steve’s arm and allowed himself to be hauled unceremoniously to his feet. As soon as he was up, Tony pulled his hand away and turned to the nearest display console.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“Sir.” The AI’s voice was clipped. “It would seem Corvus has arrived earlier than expected.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few important author’s notes for this chapter:
> 
> 1\. First and foremost: THANK YOU! Thank you so much, dear readers, for sticking with this story and enjoying it. And especially big thanks to those who have left such lovely (and sometimes cajoling) comments. I DO appreciate it :) It’s not my intention to leave everyone hanging, I promise. It’s just life. And work I’m doing on some original fiction takes priority over fanfic (sadly).
> 
> 2\. This fic is meant to take place very soon after The Avengers, before Iron Man 3. And speaking of IM3...
> 
> 3\. I really am not a fan of how Iron Man 3 ended with Tony so easily removing the arc reactor. That film literally hand-waved such a huge element of the Tony Stark character, and I still haven’t made peace with it. The psychological aspect of it was addressed a teensy bit, but certainly not the practicality of removing the shrapnel and reactor. Soon after IM3 came out, I speculated that Age of Ultron would retcon this, but nope—that telltale glow of Tony’s reactor is nowhere to be seen under his clothes anymore. But I think this fic can still coexist happily with the movie canon for the most part :)
> 
> 4\. I just made up the number of pieces of shrapnel in Tony. Forgive me? I know people can be sticklers for that type of detail.
> 
> 5\. So much dialogue in this chapter! Oof. Not my strong suit, but I hope it gets the job done.
> 
> Thanks again!! <3


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